


Can't stop this feeling

by Fatale (femme)



Category: House, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-17
Updated: 2006-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:32:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale





	Can't stop this feeling

Holy crossover, Batman! First crossover _ever_ , peeps.  
Fandoms: House, Supernatural (bizarre much, I know)  
For my most beautiful and long-suffering semi-gay life partner, [](http://hansbekhart.livejournal.com/profile)[**hansbekhart**](http://hansbekhart.livejournal.com/).

 

Can't stop this feeling (Chase/Dean, slight House/Chase and Wincest) NC17 for blowjob

 

 

 

When he sees the blond doctor, he stands up and immediately accosts him. "Is my brother okay?"

"Mr. Fitzpatrick?"

Dean looks shifty. "That's me."

"Right, your brother suffered a concussion and minor injuries. We'll keep him overnight for observation, but he should fine and ready to go by the morning."

Dean feels his knees go weak and he sinks down into the uncomfortable waiting room chair. "Thank _fuck_."

"Are you okay?" the doctor asks, who Dean can't help but notice, now that his mind isn't racing ahead, is mighty fucking pretty.

"I'm fine." He gives a little jaunty grin. "When can I see him?"

"The nurses are finishing up and they'll come get you when they're done."

 

***

 

Sammy looks like shit, but he'll be fine and that's all that matters. He needs his rest and Dean needs something to eat because he seriously hasn't eaten in a day. He runs into the doctor on his way out and he grabs his arm without thinking about it.

"You look hungry," Dean says. "Come down to the cafeteria and get a bite with me."

The doctor hesitates, then smiles. "Why not?" he says in this accent that goes straight to Dean's crotch.

"What's your name?" he asks on the way, so he doesn't have to keep calling him "the pretty blond doctor" in his head.

"Chase. Robert Chase."

"Mind if I call you Robbie?" Dean doesn't know why he asked that, but it's too late to take the words back.

That kind of hesitant, almost wounded expression is back before he replies. "No, I guess not."

It's not like it's a big deal, people probably call him by his first name all the time, but the intimacy with the name reminds him of Sammy.

 

***

 

They're in the middle of eating cold Reuben sandwiches when a crotchety old man bangs his cane against their table, nearly upsetting their drinks and making Robbie go an alarming shade of puce.

“I hate to interrupt your date,” the man says and Dean feels his hackles rise, “but there’s a woman dying. Inconvenient, I know.”

Chase glances apologetically at Dean before wiping his mouth and muttering something at the old man’s retreating back. “Sorry, that’s Dr. House.”

“He seems like quite a guy.” And by _quite a guy_ Dean obviously means _asshole_.

Chase smiles wryly, then says, “It was nice,” and hurries off.

Dean watches him leave and wishes Robbie had taken his lab coat off, so he has a better view of his ass while he runs away. And there’s no doubt in Dean’s mind that he’s running, not to House but _from_ Dean, because Chase wasn’t apologetic when he saw his boss, nor did he bother to contradict him when he assumed it was a date.

Interesting.

 

***

 

His boots make a THUMP-THUMP-THUMP against the highly-polished floor, which he enjoys. He gets that this is an upscale hospital, better than the crap places they frequent when they’re hurt too badly to do a patch job on themselves, and he takes a vicious pleasure in the scuffs his biker boots leave.

As soon as his thoughts wander back to Dr. Chase, the actual man appears from around the corner. Quickly, Dean wishes for a team of Swedish babes in bikinis.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick?” Robbie asks, smiling.

For a minute, Dean can’t imagine who he’d be talking to, but would let Robbie call him Sally if he’d just keep smiling that way. An awkward few seconds pass before he remembers, oh, yeah, he’s Mr. Fitzpatrick. “Uh, yeah,” he says.

“How is Neil doing?”

“Neil? _Oh, Neil_. My brother, who’s in there.”

Chase’s smile is looking more pained by the second and it strikes Dean that he must have a lot of patients and it’s pretty damn flattering that he seems to remember him and his brother so well.

“He’s fine,” Dean says and is more relieved not to have to lie than he’s willing to admit. He’d checked in on Sam a few minutes ago and he seemed to be doing well, or at least as well as someone could be when you got your brain all scrambled. “How’s your woman?”

As Chase’s confused look, Dean prompts, “Woman, dying, old son of a bitch with a cane?”

“Ah, she’s fine.”

“Got it all figured out?”

“House did, but that’s nothing unusual.”

“So if you were busy curing mysterious women earlier, then what are you doing here now?” Whatever the reason, Dean’s certainly glad he is.

Chase rolls his eyes, like this is one in a million frustrations that he’s learned to deal with. “He has me covering his clinic hours this week and I’m following up on a few cases.”

“Sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It’s getting there,” Chase says and damn it if he isn’t the prettiest fucking thing Dean’s seen in three states. Fuck it, in the USA. This doctor is _continental_.

He checks his watch, even though Dean’s pretty sure he knows what time it is. “I’m almost done here.”

The unspoken invitation hangs in the air between them and no matter how much Dean wants to take Robbie up on, he can’t. From his post outside the doorway, he can _sense_ Sam breathing.

Chase is nothing if not perceptive; he sees Dean’s answer before Dean does and he’s nodding, wordlessly saying _no big deal_ and shrugging it all off with a laid-back cool dude attitude that probably fools anyone who isn’t Dean Winchester.

He wonders how long it’s been since anyone touched this guy in a way that mattered.

“Come here,” Dean says with a jerk of his head that speaks volumes about what kind of mean Dean is. The kind used to jerking his head and having people come scurrying forward.

Chase steps forward, close enough for Dean to smell his spicy cologne, tropical maybe. Matches his accent. He grabs onto the front of Robbie’s ugly shirt with both fists, simultaneously pulling them together and sending them careening into Sam’s dark room, where only Dean’s natural grace and balance save them from falling into a messy heap on the floor.

Of course, that’s relative, since Dean feels like maybe he’s falling apart against the softness, the _neediness_ of Robbie’s mouth. His lips are like a vacuum, sucking out anything he has to give and Dean is reminded of the time he was nineteen and the way Sammy kissed him, all warm, questing lips and long limbs. He’d pushed Sam away then, and when Sam had left years later, he’d wondered if he made the wrong decision or if nothing he did had ever mattered at all.

What does matter is right now and the way Robbie’s hand is ghosting over his crotch; that he should be appalled at macking with male doctor not ten feet away from his sleeping brother, but he isn’t.

He gasps and bucks up against the firm pressure of those long fingers that handle needles and scalpels alike. _Oh, yeah_ , he thinks lewdly and can’t stop a stupid, smug grin from spreading across his face. _You can handle my equipment any time._

Sam mutters something and twitches while Dean holds his breath. As soon as it’s clear he’s not going to wake up, Dean unzips his pants with a wicked grin. Without hesitation, Robbie drops to his knees, like it’s a familiar gesture, like it’s penance, and the thought turns Dean on more than it should. There’s a familiar look on Robbie’s face: lost, searching, hopeful. _Sam_.

It always come back to Sam, Dean thinks, and that’s the last coherent thought he has before Chase takes his cock into that unbelievable mouth with a skill that’s unexpected. Well, well, the things you learn about a guy while he’s sucking you off.

Dean hisses, draws the breath between his teeth like his life depends on it; if Sam wakes up during this, he’ll likely kill Dean, so maybe it does. He sticks a fist in his mouth for good measure while the other hand runs through Robbie’s hair, tugging gently to urge him on. The wall is rough against his back and high heeled shoes walk down the hall with purpose, pause somewhere a few rooms away and then carry on, leaving only the snuffling of Chase breathing through his nose and the sinful sounds his mouth makes as he takes Dean deeper.

Dean whimpers around his fist as Chase pulls back, but only long enough to lick his own finger, then his mouth’s back and Dean wonders if maybe Robbie was a vacuum in a past life.

He reaches up to tug Dean’s pants down further, enough to snake a hand around to his ass. Dean stiffens, it’s all a bit too _doctory_ , even for his own tastes. Until a finger sinks into him, painfully slow and hits this _place_ inside Dean that makes him see stars. Hell, he sees constellations. When he comes, he jams his fist so far in his mouth, he can swear it touches his tonsils and his other hand reflexively tightens in Chase’s hair in way that he’s sure is painful, if the startled sound is anything to go by.

Dean blinks, trying to orient himself in unfamiliar surroundings, frowns and wipes his slobbery hand against his jeans. He sinks down a bit, enough to apologize to Robbie for being a bitch about the hair pulling, but sees him with a few napkins, first wiping his mouth, then his hand, then the front of his pants. Dean grins in the darkness, sure that he can see a blush staining Chase’s cheeks and neck.

“I guess,” Dean says lowly, while pulling his pants back up and zipping them, “you don’t need any help from me.”

Chase blushes harder. “I don’t normally do this,” he whispers back, made all the more irresistible by his accent.

“I know, dude,” Dean assures him, and he does, because Dean figures this guy isn’t in to fucking around with patients or their brothers. He’s also way too good at sucking cock to be a novice. “Why don’t you tell the guy you care about him?”

He seems taken aback at first, then sighs. “Can’t.”

“Sure you can,” Dean says and glances over at Sam. “The bastard deserves to know why you’re all fucked up over him.”

“Maybe,” Chase says and the sound is wonderfully uncertain and perfect and Dean wants to kiss him, so he does.

 

***

 

For finally getting out of the hospital, Sam is surprisingly surly.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” Dean asks, if only to mask the gut-clenching fear that maybe Sam isn’t okay, that the doctors were wrong.

“I’m fine,” Sam insists. “Though I did wake up in the middle of the night. Any guesses about what I saw?”

Dean shrugs because he’s not sure how _much_ Sam saw and he knows enough about the law to shut the fuck up before your incriminate yourself.

“Doctor? Blond? Oh, bitch, you are in _so_ much trouble.”

Dean laughs, throws back his head and lets go, because this is pure Sam and he’s so glad to have him back, even when he’s as cranky as a motherfucker. They’ll have to talk about it eventually, about what else Sam may have and probably did hear, but for now there’s only Sam: nostrils flaring and squinting angrily, like he can kick Dean’s ass by sheer force of will.

He glances up and sees Dr. Chase standing by the bastard with a cane in front of a window and he salutes, sure that neither can see it, but it doesn’t matter. He has what he needs; they both do.

“I’m hungry,” Sam whines and Dean reaches over and squeezes his shoulder like he’ll never let go.

 

 

 

END.

 


End file.
